


Her Andrea

by ZoS



Series: Her Andrea-verse [1]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Completed, Drama, Established Relationship, F/F, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, NO character deaths, Romance, no graphic details
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoS/pseuds/ZoS
Summary: It only takes one phone call--just that one call to upend Miranda's life and throw her into a vortex of anxiety and helplessness. When Andrea's life is on the line, all bets are off.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This story contains NO character deaths and I kept the graphic details to an absolute minimum.
> 
> However, I'm aware that this subject may be a trigger for some, so proceed at your own discretion.
> 
> \---
> 
> Full disclosure: After watching 14.5 seasons of Grey's Anatomy, I know jack shit about medicine, so despite my extensive research, this story will inevitably have some medical inaccuracies. But I did work super hard to educate myself so I hope I did the subject enough justice. (Thanks, Dr. Internet!)
> 
> The story takes place around 6 years after the movie.

In retrospect, you should have known that your day was too good to be true.

It started with a lovely wake-up call that had you squeezing your thighs until mid-morning in remembered pleasure. Traffic on the way to work was light (by Manhattan standards) and, for once, your employees were competent enough with scalding hot coffee, lack of delays in completing tasks, and acceptable ideas.

Your days never go so smoothly; something bad was bound to happen.

It does just upon your return from lunch, in the form of a phone call.

You're going through your notes from the earlier editorial meeting, impressed with how well it actually went (despite Amelia's suggestion to bring back '90s velvet dresses) when the call comes.

Your cell phone rings, which usually doesn't happen if you're in the office with two assistants and your desk phone. Unless it's a personal call.

That should tip you off immediately. Your girls currently have classes and your partner is working, and you don't have that many personal relationships.

The next tip-off should be the unknown number on the screen because very few people have your personal number and fewer aren't saved in your contact list.

But you answer nevertheless, sliding your finger across the screen and pressing it to your ear with a short "Yes?" Your pen proceeds to fly across the page.

"Hello, am I speaking with Miranda Priestly?" comes the female voice on the other end.

"Who is this?" You frown because people who have your personal phone number don't feel the need to ascertain they are speaking to you. This woman sounds very much like a phone operator intent on disturbing your day with some inane offer. You could probably get her fired.

Except the woman continues, "This is Alana from _NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital_. We have you listed as Andrea Sachs's emergency contact."

You pen falls. Your head shoots up. You switch the phone to your other ear. "What happened?"

And then your brain all but shuts down. You can barely hear the woman over the frantic sound of your heartbeat and the blood pumping in your temples. Through the thick haze in your head, you make out distant words such as "accident" and "surgery" and "stabilize."

This is one of your worst nightmares--always has been. The call that comes out of the blue, on a seemingly ordinary day, to deliver the scariest news you can imagine. A disembodied voice informing you that a loved one has been hurt, upending your life in the blink of an eye with their monotone voice. Feeling helpless that your influence and power didn't extend far enough to protect the people closest to you, that you only hear about it after the fact and have to trust everyone but yourself to fix it, to not let them slip away.

You think you might pass out. You think you might kill someone. You're paralyzed. You don't know how you're supposed to proceed. This was not penciled into your schedule and you feel lost.

You have to get control of yourself. Focus. This will not do. You are not a person who freezes and shuts down during a crisis and this will be no different.

Before the woman on the phone can finish speaking, you are out of your chair, stalking out of your office.

You should have known your day was too good to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter coming tomorrow! In the meantime, I always love reading what you guys think. This story was very challenging to write so I'd love to get your feedback and opinions as we go.


	2. ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, there's no correlation between the Grey's quote and the story's hospital setting. It just came to me and it fits the story. ~~I don't even really like Grey's anymore.~~

_"Did you say it?_  
_'I love you.'_  
_'I don't ever want to live without you.'_  
_'You changed my life.'_  
_Did you say it?_  
_Make a plan. Set a goal. Work toward it, but every now and then look around; drink it in 'cause this is it._  
_It might all be gone tomorrow."_

**_-Meredith Grey,_ Grey's Anatomy**

 

* * *

 

The automatic doors barely had a chance to close behind her before she reached the reception desk in quick strides. The entire place smelled of antiseptic and sickness and death and she remembered in that instant how much she hated hospitals.

"May I help you?" the obnoxiously sweet girl behind the desk asked, wearing an even more obnoxiously sweet smile.

"Andrea Sachs," she ground out, her voice rough, refusing to leave her throat. Her name: it was all she'd been thinking about since getting the phone call; on her way out of the office, in the agonizingly slow elevator, in the car, crawling through the suddenly heavy traffic--it was as if the entire world had rotated on its axis due to one single moment in Andrea's life.

Andrea. Indeed, her name had been occupying Miranda's thoughts, accompanied by very little else. She'd been repeating it to herself unconsciously, wondering if she would get a chance to utter it out loud again.

"I'm sorry?" the girl asked, her voice high-pitched and irritating. Miranda wanted to wrap her fingers around her throat until nothing else came out.

Instead, she said slowly, "Where is Andrea Sachs?" enunciating every word.

"Are you family?" asked the girl. Her name tag read _Melanie_ and she sounded like one. Did she really not get the graveness of the situation? Did she not know who was standing in front of her?

Miranda was about half a second away from losing her cool, but she had to stay focused, level-headed. Anger achieved nothing and she couldn't afford to lose any precious seconds right now. She did assume what she hoped was her scariest glare, however, and lowered her voice to a near-whisper when she said, "Listen to me. I have been donating ridiculous amounts of money to this hospital since before you got accepted into secretary school by blowing gum bubbles for your entrance exam, and it will be a shame if next month your boss doesn't get the check he likes so much because _you_ couldn't do your job right. So now you will pick up that phone and call dear Mr. Fields and tell him that Miranda Priestly wants to see him immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

With slight pleasure, she noted the apprehension on Melanie's face, possibly at the prospect of getting fired because, looking Miranda up and down, she still didn't seem to recognize her. Miranda pursed her lips.

But Melanie, to her relief, picked up the phone and weakly said, "Alright." Then she nodded toward something to Miranda's right. It was a waiting area with shabby chairs and way too many people. "You can take a seat while I call him. He's probably busy so it might take a wh--"

Miranda's glare stopped her and she gulped, then punched the buttons on the receiver. But Miranda waited (by the desk and nowhere near all the germs the chairs were, no doubt, infected with). She had no other choice. She felt so helpless.

She looked around her at the reception area: distressed people everywhere, waiting anxiously, worrying about their loved ones. Just like Miranda.

Except, they weren't like Miranda at all. None of those nameless faces could have been feeling what Miranda was feeling at that moment. None of them loved their admitted significant others or friends or family as much as Miranda loved Andrea, and none of them could have possibly felt as terrified and hollow as she felt.

It was as if the ground had given way beneath her feet, quite literally. One moment, everything had been normal; everything had been better than normal, in fact, like some cruel joke of fate. And the next, everything had crumbled around her, making Miranda lose her footing. She felt like she was floating aimlessly in the air, hanging by a thread that would break at any given moment and bring her down with it, into reality.

The woman on the phone, at least not as cheerful as _Melanie_ , had mentioned a car accident. She hadn't given Miranda all the facts; probably not at liberty to do so, or perhaps she just hadn't known. But from the bits and pieces Miranda had collected through her silent hysteria, Andrea had been hurt and it didn't look too good.

Miranda hadn't told her this morning that she loved her--neither of them had said it, even after their mutual satisfaction. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time either of them had said the words. It was so obvious that there was hardly ever a need to. They'd taken it for granted; their relationship, their life together. Life.

What if Miranda never got the chance to say it again?

"Miranda!" she heard behind her and spun around. A greying man slightly older than herself was heading toward her in a suit and a tie that didn't match. He offered his hand when he came to a stop before her and said, "It's good to see you again." Miranda didn't shake it.

"Mr. Fields," she said.

"Please, call me Gary," he corrected friendly, which was his way of saying, "If you refuse to call me Doctor, then at least don't call me Mister." For the amount of money Miranda poured on him every month, she could call him whatever she damn well pleased.

She ignored him. "You have Andrea here," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yes." He nodded solemnly. "I've just been informed. Come with me." His hand moved to rest on her back, but he was smart enough to let it drop at the last moment. Miranda followed at his side anyway as he began filling her in.

"From what I heard, a drunk driver hit the cab Andrea was in." Miranda's nostrils flared and she saw red. The love of her life was now lying on an operating table because some drunk had had to get behind the wheel. At noon.

Pressing the button for the elevator, Fields continued, "When the paramedics brought her in, she briefly regained consciousness and was responsive, but she shortly passed out again. She was taken for an MRI, which showed she had suffered an epidural hematoma. She was promptly rushed to surgery. That's our main concern before anything el--"

"Epidural what?" Miranda interrupted with a frown just as the elevator doors opened. Thankfully, it was empty, and just this once she would share it with another person that wasn't Andrea.

"Hematoma," Mr. Fields provided patiently, pressing a floor button. The doors closed and he explained, "It's when bleeding occurs between the dura mater--which is the tough, outer membrane covering the brain--and the skull. It happens when a blood vessel ruptures and blood escapes the normal bloodstream and starts to thicken and clot. In which case, it may grow and compress the brain and that's when surgery is needed.

"Her surgeon is currently performing a craniotomy, which involves cutting a hole in the skull to remove a bone flap so that he can access the brain. He'll remove the blood clots, then replace the bone flap in its normal position and secure it to the skull with plates and screws.

"Fortunately, the rest of Andrea's injuries were mild. No internal bleeding or broken bones, just a sprained elbow and some superficial wounds," he continued as the elevator stopped on its intended floor and they exited, but Miranda hadn't heard anything after the word "surgery."

"Isn't brain surgery dangerous?" she questioned.

"Every surgery has its risks," he gave her what she knew was his practiced, non-answer answer. She arched a threatening eyebrow at him because she was not in the mood to be played with and no one had the right to be condescending to her.

He nodded in understanding and admitted, "It's always risky to operate on the brain and we don't always know how the patient will respond after the surgery. But I assure you, Miranda, I have my best surgeons working on Andrea at the moment. The good news is that Andrea was conscious and lucid for a while after the accident and she received surgery quickly, so her chances of recovery are looking good."

Miranda couldn't see how any part of this catastrophe could be labeled as "good."

"I want Andrea put in a private room," she stated. "She will not be anywhere around any of these... sick people," she finished in disgust as a scrawny, old man passed by her, assisted by a nurse.

"Of course," Mr. Fields replied without missing a beat. "I've already arranged for a private room in the ICU and you'll be taken there to see her as soon as she's out of surgery. In the meantime," he continued as they came to a stop before a closed door and he pushed it open and turned to Miranda, "this is a private waiting room. No one will bother you here. Unless there are any complications, the surgery should be done soon and Andrea's surgeon will come here to talk to you. I'm sure he'll explain everything better than I can."

Stepping into the room, Miranda took in the couch, armchairs, coffee table, and even small kitchenette, complete with a coffee machine. Not entirely unacceptable, though she wouldn't be injesting anything made in this germ-filled institution. Neither would Andrea.

Nevertheless, she said, "Very well." Mr. Fields would continue to receive her money, which was undoubtedly all he really cared about.

He even smiled and said, "I'll check up on the two of you later." She preferred he didn't.

Then he left the room, closed the door, and Miranda was alone. She looked around her, feeling lost all over again--or maybe she'd never stopped.

None of this felt real. It couldn't be. She was standing inside a hospital waiting room. Andrea was having surgery done on her brain. Their contented, blissful life had just changed in the middle of a regular Tuesday.

She was supposed to be reviewing Donna Karan's new collection just about now. Which reminded her--

Sinking down onto the couch, careful not to touch anything with her bare skin, she opened her bag and pulled her phone out, pressing the short-cut to her first assistant's number. She hadn't talked to her--or any other of her employees, for that matter--since her abrupt departure from the office, where she'd demanded, "Call my driver and cancel the rest of my day," and provided nothing else.

Her assistants were probably breathing into paper bags at the moment. She felt the need to do the same.

"Miranda?" Leah answered before the first ring had finished, sounding distraught, as par for the course. Miranda skipped the greetings.

"I'm at the hospital--"

"Y-you--"

"Andrea has had an accident," she continued in the same breath.

"Oh, my god," Leah breathed. "Is she alright? What happened?"

"Don't interrupt me," Miranda said cuttingly and she shut up. Not that she would have had a chance to respond, because Miranda proceeded, trying to take on a business-as-usual attitude, "I won't be in until tomorrow at the earliest so cancel everything, don't make any promises, and make sure nobody calls me--do what you have to do, I don't care, but I _don't_  want to be disturbed.

"Also, I won't be reviewing the Book tonight, but I'll need Jennifer to fetch me my things from the house and bring them to the hospital. Call my housekeeper and tell her to give Jennifer my beige, cashmere sweater and brown slacks,"--because she might be privy to the mess Miranda and Andrea made of their sheets, but even she wasn't going anywhere near Miranda's pajama drawer and _certainly_ not her underwear drawer. Tonight she would just have to wear the same pair--"my toothpaste and toothbrush,"--which would have to be disposed of after coming in contact even with just the air at the hospital--"as well as my hairbrush and make-up removal wipes." Looking down at the couch beneath her, she added, "And also anti-bacterial wipes."

For now, she had her make-up necessities in her bag and even she could concede that no one at the hospital cared what color her eyelids were painted so she she merely demanded, "I'll also need my phone charger and _Starbucks_ and, oh, my vitamins--have my housekeeper give those to Jennifer as well. Then call my girls and--" she stopped herself.

No. No, her kids wouldn't be hearing about this from her assistant. Even she had her limits and knew she had to inform them herself, as hard as it would be. She wasn't sure she herself had even grasped the entire situation yet.

"No, don't call my girls," she finished defeatedly and ran her fingers through her hair, likely mussing it in the process. She didn't care at the moment.

A silence ensued. Leah was probably waiting for her to add more, scared to intervene again, but what else was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to think? She didn't know.

Finally, Leah asked timidly, "Is there anything else you--"

"That's all," she said softly and hung up. Then she leaned back and looked up. The ceiling was covered in delicate flower patterns, meant to relax, she imagined. She didn't feel relaxed at all.

She really didn't want to do this--didn't know how she was going to do it--but her daughters had a right to know. They loved Andrea--hadn't instantaneously upon meeting her, but over time she'd become a permanent member of their little family unit. She had that way about her: her persistence and stubborness; making her presence notable and making everyone around her fall in love.

And they all had. She'd brought light and joy to their family, things that it had greatly lacked before her arrival. Where Miranda had once preferred the silence and class of her house, in the last five years she'd learned to embrace laughter and loud music and screaming at video game matches. Well, sometimes.

She couldn't, would not return to an empty house. Her house--their house--would never again be a home without Andrea in it.

How was she supposed to tell her kids that that was a possibility? She was about to disrupt their lives, just as hers had been not long ago. They were probably busy studying--or, in Caroline's case, sleeping--blissfully unaware of the dark cloud that had taken residence over all of their lives.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the short-cut for Cassidy's number. Being the pre-med student, she might be able to view the situation with some level-headedness, maybe even assure Miranda that it wasn't as bad as it sounded. After all, she was the one constantly calling home with gorey stories about organs and diseases; what was a little crano-something-or-other for her?

Perhaps when they were done, she could inform her sister instead of Miranda. Give her some professional, medical details Miranda couldn't. Or maybe not.

"Hey, Mom," she answered blithely and Miranda's heart sank immediately. "Funny you should call. I was just about to text Andy this _gruesome_ pic of a tumor. She's gonna love it."

Her enthusiasm made Miranda's chest tighten painfully. She tried to take another deep breath, but was unable to fill her lungs. Instead, she exhaled it with the word, "Bobbsey."

And Cassidy immediately knew that something was wrong because she hadn't called the twins that name in years, not since they'd hit puberty and insisted that the nickname was for babies. It had taken a backseat after that, staying reserved for special occasions that called for Miranda's comfort, such as one of her girls getting sick or... or right now.

"Uh-oh, Mom, what's wrong?"

Miranda gulped. Now or never. "There's been an accident, honey." She heard the sharp intake of breath over the line and continued, "Andrea was hit by a car--well, her cab was--and she's now in surgery--"

"What happened?" Cassidy interrupted, sounding more serious than Miranda had heard her be in a long time.

"She has a bleeding or blood clot in her brain, I'm not entirely sure. Epidural something?"

"Epidural hematoma?"

"Yes, that's it. They were worried about it compressing her brain so they rushed her to surgery. She's still there and I'm... waiting."

"Oh, god," Cassidy whispered. Not exactly the response she'd been hoping for.

"That's-that's not too bad, is it?" she stammered, feeling like a ton of bricks was sitting on her chest. "The-- Fields, he said that she had good chances?" She felt like an idiot, consulting her 18-yead-old daughter on Andrea's medical predicament, but she was at a complete loss by now.

"Well, I mean, it's not the _worst_." She was probably able to sense Miranda's anxiety through the phone because she remedied her words with, "I mean, it certainly could have been worse." Not helping. "I just-- god, she's having _brain surgery_."

"I am painfully aware, Cassidy," Miranda ground out, gritting her teeth so hard her head hurt.

"Oh, no, Mom, I didn't mean to-- I'm sorry. Do you know anything? Have they--"

"Not much more than what I told you. Her other injuries weren't severe and the surgery should be finished soon,"--unless there were complications, Mr. Fields's words rang in her head unpleasantly--"and then her doctor will come talk to me."

"Okay." She heard Cassidy take a breath. "Okay, so-- so, uh, you'll keep me posted?"

"Of course, honey."

"Have you told Caroline yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay." Then there was a pregnant silence. Miranda hardly ever felt awkward with her children, but now she just didn't know what to say. "Everything will be fine?" She didn't know that. "Don't get your hopes up?" God.

"How are you holding up?" Cassidy finally broke the silence.

She decided against telling her that she was trying with all her might not to break apart, but also didn't lie when she said, "I'll be okay when I know that Andrea is."

Another silence, then, "I love you, Mom." And Miranda felt a huge lump in her throat that made it impossible to swallow because this was another thing that wasn't said between them often, not since the girls had grown up and it had become "uncool."

But she hadn't said it that morning and neither had Andrea and the people she loved and cherished needed to know that, to not have a shred of a doubt, before it was too late. She hoped and prayed that it wasn't too late for Andrea.

"I love you, too, Bobbsey," she said, her voice coming out just louder than a whisper.

When the conversation was over, she covered her face with her hand and took deep breaths. Focus. Stay collected. No breaking down. It would do no good.

She called Caroline, who picked up on the first ring, "Andy's in the hospital?!" Well, those two were faster than _Twitter_.

"Yes, darling, she is," Miranda sighed.

"Mom, what the fuck?" she exclaimed and, for once, Miranda didn't scold her because what the fuck indeed.

"She was in a car accident and--" she started the story again, but was interrupted.

"Yeah, yeah, Cassidy told me. She's having surgery on her brain?" She sounded truly disturbed and a small, sick part of Miranda felt warm, seeing how much her girls really did care for Andrea.

"That's right," she answered, trying to sound calm.

"Could she-- Mom, could Andy..." she hesitated, not daring to say the word that Miranda didn't dare think.

She wanted to reassure her daughter and say something like, "Of course not. Andrea is strong and she'll come out of this even stronger." She wanted to believe that herself. Instead, she found herself sighing and saying, "I don't know, honey. I hope not."

She thought she heard sniffling on the other end of the line, but when Caroline spoke again, her voice was steady. "Mom, do you want me to come there?"

Frowning, she replied, "Don't be ridiculous, Caroline. You have school."

"It's not as important as this," she insisted, sounding very much like Andrea.

"Caroline," Miranda lowered her voice in an attempt to convey her seriousness. Knowing her daughter, she just might use Miranda's connections to hop on a flight from Chicago to New York because she felt that her mother couldn't handle the pressure on her own. "Don't come here. I don't want you to and Andrea won't want you to either. Stay in school and focus on your classes and when I have an update, I'll call you."

"But--"

"No 'but's. You are not to miss a single class because of this, do you hear me? I spent a lot of money on your tuition."

"But you'll call as soon as you hear something, right?"

"I will." She nodded, even though Caroline couldn't see her.

"And Andy will be okay. Right?"

Miranda drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Right." Please, let her be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No shade at anyone named Melanie.


	3. TWO

Alright. Miranda was at the hospital. Andrea had been in a car accident. She was having surgery done on her brain. This was happening.

People usually survived brain surgery, didn't they? Natasha from the beauty department had had one, for some reason or other that Miranda hadn't cared about, and she'd come back fine, albeit with a bald patch on her head.

Miranda loved Andrea's hair, but she'd take her entirely bald if it meant alive.

How long had it been, anyway? It felt like an entire day had passed and still nobody had come to tell her anything. She wanted to rip her own hair out.

She paced. She checked her phone for e-mails. She paced some more. She heard a knock at the door.

All but running toward it, she swung it open only to come face to face with her second assistant, holding a _Gucci_ overnight bag and a cup of _Starbucks_.

"Oh, it's you," she said dryly and walked back to the couch.

"I asked at reception for you and a nurse brought me here," Jennifer said in her small, timid, annoying voice. "I have your things here. Your housekeeper--"

"Put it there and leave," Miranda cut her off, nodding toward one of the armchairs. She did as told, then placed the coffee cup on the table.

Miranda sat back down and watched as she headed for the door, but turned around at the threshold. "I hope Andy's okay. She's always really nice to me."

And for some reason, that made Miranda want to squeeze the life out of that girl. Put her on that OR table in place of Andrea. She didn't _need_ to be comforted, didn't need anyone telling her that they "hope Andy's okay." Of course she'd be okay. Miranda had given her no permission to be anything else and she'd not given this less-than-competent nobody permission to open her mouth.

Her glare must have conveyed her thoughts very well because Jennifer actually squeaked and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Miranda paced. She peeked outside the room to see if any doctor was approaching. She paced some more. She drank her _Starbucks_ and didn't enjoy it.

A knock came on the door and then it opened, revealing a man in blue scrubs. To her relief, he didn't look too young to hold a scalpel or too old as to have shaky hands. Acceptable enough. Mr. Fields _had_ assured her that his best surgeons were working on Andrea.

"Ms. Priestly?" he asked, and either he did recognize her or he'd been filled in. She voted the latter. She really didn't care.

"Is Andrea out of surgery?" she asked right away, already reaching for her bag, ready to leave this room. She was beginning to feel claustrophobic. His face didn't look grim and she silently begged him to say--

"She is." He smiled and a huge breath left her lungs. Andrea was alive.

"I'm Dr. Reed. I operated on Andrea and surgery went very well," he continued, Miranda barely processing his words through her sudden dizziness. She carefully seated herself on the couch and he crossed the room and took a seat on the chair that wasn't occupied by her overnight bag.

"Andrea had an epidural hematoma, which means--"

"I know what it means," she snapped, then almost felt bad because this man _had_ just saved Andrea's life after all.

He showed no hard feelings, though, smiling again and asking, "Well, I'm guessing you've been informed about her procedure as well?" She pursed her lips and nodded. She was well-aware that a hole had been cut in Andrea's head.

"Okay, so let me just sum it up for you so everything is clear." He leaned toward her and clasped his hands. Miranda hated repetitions, but for once, she let him speak. "Andrea suffered a head trauma in her accident, which meant, in her case, that she was bleeding within her skull. The blood formed a pretty big clot and we were worried about it compressing her brain, so what I did was cut a portion of her skull"--he circled his finger around a spot on the left side of his head, where Miranda assumed he'd operated on Andrea--"and remove the clot. The bone is now back in place and Andrea is stable. In about a week, we will remove the staples we put there so she'll be good as new."

He gave her what he probably thought was a charming smile, but Miranda felt nauseated. Nevertheless, he unclasped his hands and said, "She's currently being moved into the ICU and I'll take you to see her in a second. Just going to prepare you first: she might not look so good. We bandaged the incision area, of course, but she sustained multiple injuries during the crash. I assure you, though, none are life-threatening."

Miranda didn't give two shits about what Andrea looked like. She was alive! "We have left the breathing tube in place until she's fully recovered from the anesthetic," Dr. Reed continued, "and when she wakes up, she'll still be drowsy for a while, slipping in and out of consciousness. That's just the medication and remnants of anesthesia; nothing to worry about."

"How long will she need to stay here?" Miranda questioned because that meant herself, too. She could probably dictate _Runway_ business from Andrea's bedside.

"I'd like to keep her here for at least five days. We'll be monitoring her closely and if everything goes well and no complications occur, we'll let her go," he said. "She won't be able to return to work for about six more weeks, though, and light duty only. What does she do?"

"Journalist," Miranda murmured. She wondered if her editor had called her office, but then she'd instructed Leah not to contact her. Which was just as well because Andrea had probably been on her way to conduct an interview, so he was partly to blame.

"Well, that means desk duty for her," Dr. Reed said. "The nurses will talk to you more about medications and treatment at home before she's discharged, and I'll stop by again to explain everything to the both of you, but why don't I take you to see her now? She's still unconscious, but you can sit with her if you'd like."

Miranda would like very much.

* * *

Perhaps she should have listened to Dr. Reed's warning after all because Andrea looked worse than she'd expected.

Lying in the hospital bed, connected to all sorts of machines and tubes, with one taped into her mouth, she looked as though she was still dying. She was so white and still, the beeping around her and the slow rise and fall of her chest were the only indicators she was alive.

The left side of her head was bandaged, as the doctor had said, as well as the skin above her left eyebrow. Miranda couldn't see underneath the blanket, but she knew other parts of her body were likely bruised as well. Her left arm was wrapped in a bandage and held up by a sling.

And she looked so small, almost like a child, reminding Miranda of how much younger than her she was. Miranda had always thought she'd be the first to kick the bucket, then she shooed the thought from her head because no one was kicking any bucket today.

Left alone with a slumbering Andrea, she put her bags on a chair by the door and sat down on a very uncomfortable one by the bed. She'd have someone bring in an armchair for her later, maybe a bed, too, if they could fit one in, because she wasn't leaving this room tonight.

She watched Andrea sleep, watched her chest move with her breathing, and thought of all the times she'd sat awake with Andrea dreaming on beside her. Never here, never like this.

She pictured them in bed, Miranda reading a book while Andrea snuggled up to her side. Or sitting on the couch and working with Andrea's head in her lap, running her fingers through her hair.

Andrea's hair was messy now, knotted and looking in desperate need of washing. She wondered when she could do that.

Moving closer, the reached for the hand closest to her, being mindful of the IV in the arm, and took it between both of hers. It was limp and cold and it made Miranda's blood freeze as well, but she had to remind herself that Andrea was alive. The surgery had gone well. Andrea was alive.

She breathed out a sigh and caressed her hand, hoping to give it some of her own warmth.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, watching Andrea, trying to will her to wake up with her mind, when a nurse walked in, smiled, and checked the machines above the bed. Miranda didn't care what she was doing so long as it kept Andrea alive.

Then she was gone and it was time to face the even scarier demons. She'd avoided making that phone call, at least until she knew Andrea was safe. Or so she'd told herself when, in reality, she always dreaded it.

But this was important, just as important as notifying her girls, whom she'd also need to call and update. As well as Andrea's editor, she thought with a sigh. But first and foremost--

Getting her phone from her purse, she sat back down by Andrea's bed and selected the contact. Then pressed it to her ear and listened to the ringing tone, almost hoping she would be sent to voicemail.

"Hello?" came the voice on the other end instead. Miranda sighed again, closed her eyes, ground her teeth.

"Kate."

"Miranda?" Mrs. Sachs questioned, matching her cold tone, but also sounding surprised.

"We need to talk," Miranda forced the words out.

"What's wrong?" Kate asked at once because they both knew that Miranda wouldn't call her to talk about the new season of _MasterChef_.

"I need you to remain calm--" she began slowly, but was cut off as she usually was by Kate and nobody else.

"Miranda, what happened?" she asked with an edge to her voice. "Is Andy okay?"

Miranda filled her lungs and said, "There's been an accident."

"Oh, god," Kate whimpered and Miranda could hear her breathing grow faster.

"She's out of surgery now--"

"Surgery?" Kate cried. "She had surgery?"

"Will you let me speak?" she ground out. Astonishingly, Kate did. "She was in a car accident and her head was hit so they had to operate to remove a blood clot from her skull. She's out of surgery now, but she's in the ICU and still unconscious."

"But they-- she-- she's going to be alright?" She had never heard Kate sound this rattled, but she assumed if there had ever been a good reason, this was it.

"The doctor sounded pretty positive." She decided not to mention that he, too, had been cautious of "complications." Then again, it was probably just something they said all the time for liability reasons and she shouldn't entertain such thoughts.

Leaning back agaist the hard chair, she waited for Kate to stop crying so they could speak like adults.

* * *

Their conversation could have gone worse, all things considered. Kate would inform Richard herself and Miranda had even changed her mind (as she so rarely did) about flying to New York to be with their 30-year-old "baby."

Andrea's parents had never entirely grown to like her or the fact that, of all the people in big, scary New York, Andrea had chosen her, but they were also not... unsupportive anymore. Not after five years, most of which she and Andrea had lived together. Not after seeing that Andrea was truly happy with Miranda and didn't want for anything.

Perhaps that was the reason that Kate hadn't blamed this on her as she did with most everything else. Otherwise, Miranda would have finally lost her cool.

But by the end of the call, Kate had actually thanked her for calling and being there for Andrea (after reproaching her for not calling sooner, which Miranda knew she'd deserved) and begged her to keep them updated.

Her next call had been to her daughters, who had been delighted with the turn of events. Miranda wouldn't be until Andrea was up and talking to her, but she'd let them keep their relief.

Her last call had been to David Remnick from _The New Yorker_ , who, in fact, _hadn't_ called her office to inquire about Andrea because _he hadn't known_. Which, in all fairness, hadn't been entirely his fault because Andrea had been out of the office conducting interviews all day and Miranda had been the one to receive the call from the hospital.

She'd still bitten his head off, just to finally have an outlet, and he'd apologized profusely and promised to visit as soon as Andrea was stable. Miranda hadn't been very touched by the gesture. But she'd also never visited an employee's bedside.

And now she was back to watching Andrea sleep and breathe. Andrea, who always insisted on taking cabs, who refused to let one of Miranda's drivers drive her as Miranda had beseeched her countless times.

Her stubborness had always been one of the things that attracted Miranda to her, but now she wanted to kill her if she came out of this. She could have died. Miranda had almost lost her.

What would life without Andrea look like? She couldn't picture it. They'd been together for five years and it already felt like there'd never been a time when they were apart.

Andrea was an inseparable part of her life; as big and significant as _Runway_ , her daughters, and couture. Without her... well. Miranda's mind couldn't even go there. She felt bereft already, as if missing a limb or a vital organ.

She felt the sudden urge to hold Andrea--even as she knew she couldn't--just hold her tightly and not let her slip away.

She couldn't believe the close call; how Andrea almost had slipped away. For so long, that had been a permanent fear: Andrea leaving her. But not like this, not when she finally felt confident in their connection, had started taking it for granted.

She hated this cliché, but life really was so short and precious, especially when one had so much to lose. Andrea and her girls--they were priceless. They were everything. She would never take them for granted again. She would--

A cough interrupted her thoughts.

Miranda froze, holding her breath. Involuntarily, her hands tightened their hold on Andrea's and then the coughing continued, coming out muffled around the tube in Andrea's mouth before it turned into horrible retching sounds and full-bodied convulsions.

Shooting up from her seat, she pressed the nurses station button several times, then turned to the choking woman on the bed, stroking her arm.

"It's all right, it's all right," she cooed, without even meaning to, like she had done to her daughters when they were babies. "Just hang on a little longer."

A nurse swept into the room, took one look at the scene, and rushed to Andrea's opposite bedside. Just then, Andrea's eyes opened, locking onto Miranda's as she fought the gagging tube. They were big and fearful, pleading with her to stop the torture.

"I know," she whispered and caressed her hair, not caring about the nurse's presence, "I know, it's almost over."

"You're doing great, Andrea," the nurse said--pronouncing her name like Mr. Fields and Dr. Reed had, not like Miranda did--as she untaped the tube and carefully pulled it out of Andrea's throat. Miranda worried she might throw up, or even tear the stapling on her head, but the nurse gave her a knowing smile across the bed, then released Andrea from the offending object.

Andrea continued to cough and breathe heavily as the nurse readjusted her head on the pillow and soothed her. Miranda felt helpless all over again, unable to contribute in any way.

But then Andrea's coughing began to subside and the nurse turned to check the machines again. And Andrea's eyes returned to Miranda, swollen and bruised.

"I'll call Dr. Reed," the nurse said gently, patted Andrea's arm, and left the room.

And Miranda was left alone with an awake and alive Andrea, staring up at her. She was careful as she touched the backs of her fingers to her cheek, as if even that mere contact could hurt her, and finally allowed a smile to creep onto her features. "Hello there."


	4. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a slightly shorter chapter for all those worried about memory loss. Not with this kind of injury, guys!

"And can you tell me what year it is?" Dr. Reed asked as he switched his flashlight to Andrea's right eye.

"2012," Andrea answered.

"Last question: who's the current president?"

"Not Romney," said Andrea and even managed a small smile.

Dr. Reed chuckled and turned off the flashlight. "That's good enough for me. Now follow the flashlight with your eyes only." He held the item in front of her face, slowly moving it around. Andrea obeyed.

"Great," he said and returned it into his white coat pocket. "Can you move your arms for me?"

"Both of them?" Andrea asked apprehensively, glancing down at the bandaged and bound one.

"Try a little," he urged, looking apologetic. With a wince, she did. "Now your fingers." She did.

Moving to the end of the bed, he lifted the blanket and said, "And your toes." Andrea wiggled her toes. "Perfect. Everything looks in order. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Andrea replied.

Smiling, he asked, "Can you rate the shittiness from one to ten, ten being shittiest?"

"Eight?"

"Alright." He nodded. "I'll have the nurses up your pain meds dosage, it'll put you right back to sleep."

Miranda didn't like the idea of her falling into unconsciousness again, but Andrea did need the rest. Her arms folded against her chest, she asked, "So she's alright?"

"For now everything looks okay," he answered. "Her vitals are stable and her neurological exam checks out fine. We'll keep monitoring her closely and if this keeps up, we'll be able to move her out of the ICU to continue her recovery in the neurology ward."

Miranda nodded and Andrea managed a weak "Thank you," to which he smiled and left to call a nurse.

"Hey," Andrea whispered, her voice still hoarse from the tube in her throat. She reached her hand up and Miranda grasped it and gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch any other part of her body.

"How are you feeling?" she asked stiffly, searching her face for any warning signs.

"Tired," Andrea said. "My head hurts. And my arm." She tried to move the sprained arm again and hissed. Then, right on cue, the nurse from before entered the room with a bottle of liquid medicine in it and affixed it to her IV.

"This should help soon," she said and left again.

Now Miranda watched Andrea's face for any signs of sleepiness, dreading the moment when she would slip away from her again. Her hand was already growing placcid in hers, but still she said, "What a day, huh?"

Her face contorted into something that looked like a smile, but her eyelids were getting droopy. Miranda leaned down and kissed her forehead, making sure to avoid the bandage. When she moved back, Andrea was asleep.

"Yes," she murmured. "What a day."

* * *

"Just do what you have to do and don't destroy my magazine," Miranda said tiredly and hung up the phone, remembering why she hadn't wanted to be contacted by anyone. Her thoughts were not with work at the moment. She supposed it took Andrea getting hit by a car for that to happen.

As if that thought had willed her to wake up, Andrea's eyes fluttered, opening slowly and with difficulty. Miranda leaned closer, waiting for them to focus on her. They were bloodshot, the pupils enlarged, and they struggled to stay open.

"D'you ge' it?" Andrea asked groggily, her words slurred.

Miranda frowned. "Get what?"

"The apples?"

Her frown deepened. "What?"

"For the pie," Andrea clarified and Miranda rolled her eyes, realization dawning.

"You're high as a kite, aren't you?" Andrea blinked lazily at her. "They gave you the good stuff. I wouldn't mind some of that right about now."

She watched as Andrea's eyes closed, then reopened some moments later. "You shou' see th' movie."

Then she was out and Miranda, once again, was engulfed in silence broken by steady beeping. Normally, she would have found it irritating. Now it was comforting, signaling with each beep that Andrea was alive.

She leaned back in the armchair one of the nurses or orderlies had given her--which wasn't all that comfortable, but not as bad the previous chair--and looked at Andrea's still, peaceful face.

With her slumbering and no more urgent phone calls to make (everybody that had needed to had been updated on her condition), she was left alone with her thoughts and they were running through her head like wild boars.

She was still shaken from Andrea's choking fit earlier, even though she'd been reassured it was normal and a sign of her being able to breathe on her own. She was still having trouble believing this entire day was real and not some nightmarish dream she would wake out of at any minute and roll over to feel Andrea's warm, intact body against hers.

But this wasn't a dream. Andrea had been hurt, had gone through something that only ever happened to other people--people Miranda heard about on the news and read about in the papers--not her and her loved ones.

She didn't know what awaited ahead of them. Dr. Reed had promised to come and talk to them in detail once Andrea was lucid enough and Miranda had a lot of questions: would Andrea suffer any long-term damage? How should she go about taking care of her once they returned home? _Should_ she bring her home after a mere five days? Because at the moment, Andrea looked so fragile, like the smallest thing could break her. Miranda was afraid of breaking her.

Perhaps she should have one of her assistants do some research on craniotomy and brain damage, now that they had significantly less to do, and hand her a list of questions to give to the doctor.

Perhaps she should do her own research, now that she was stuck in a hospital room with not much to do.

She closed her eyes.

When she reopened them, Andrea was staring at her from the bed. She smiled lazily when their gazes met and Miranda all but bolted from her seat.

"How long have you been awake?" she questioned, immediately regretting her scolding tone when she was, in fact, angry with herself for falling asleep while Andrea needed her.

"A few minutes," Andrea whispered, sounding less high and more like herself. Hopefully a better conversationalist. "Didn't wanna wake you."

"Well, you should have," Miranda said, but softened her tone this time. "Do you want some water?"

"Please."

She wasn't thrilled about using tap water, but the nurse had assured her that it was drinkable when she placed a plastic cup with a straw by the sink, and the vending machine was too far away. She didn't want to make Andrea wait.

Filling the cup, she headed back to the bed, remembering what the doctor had told her about keeping Andrea's head elevated to 30 degrees. Sitting down on the edge again, she brought the straw to dry lips and watched Andrea suck on it and wince as the liquid slid down her throat.

When she pulled her mouth away, Miranda deposited the cup on the bedside table. "What time is it?" Andrea asked and she looked at her wrist watch.

"A little after 10 P.M."

"When did they bring me here?"

"I got the call around 1."

"Oh." Andrea frowned, looking uncomfortable. "Were you working?"

"Yes," Miranda said and changed the subject. "How are you feeling now?" She looked closely for any signs of distress or discomfort.

"Okay, I guess. My head hurts, but it's kinda dull. I think the drugs are working."

Miranda couldn't suppress her smirk. "Yes, I think they are."

"What--" Andrea frowned again. "Oh, no, did I say something embarrassing?"

Pursing her lips to rid them of the smirk, Miranda pulled the blanket higher on her body for lack of something better to do. "Don't worry, I was the only one here."

"I don't remember anything." Andrea squinted her eyes. "I think the doctor was here."

Miranda nodded. "He'll come back again to discuss your condition."

"My condition..." Andrea muttered, looking like she was putting together bits and pieces. "I was in a car accident, wasn't I?" Miranda bit the inside of her cheek before nodding again and humming her confirmation. "What happened?"

Pursing her lips, and not in amusement, she replied, "A drunk driver crashed into your cab."

"Oh." Andrea licked her lips. Then her eyes widened. "What about the driver? The cab driver. Did he get hurt?"

Of course. Leave it to Andrea to care about a stranger before herself. Miranda hadn't even thought to inquire about his well-being. Nor the drunk driver's, who she hoped was dead.

"I don't know," she answered.

"Can you find out?"

Growing exasperated, she answered, "I don't care about anyone but you right now, Andrea. I want you to get better."

Grimacing and swallowing visibly--Miranda didn't know if it was because of her sore throat or anxiety--Andrea asked, "How bad is it?"

Sighing, she began playing with the edge of the blanket again. How many more times would she have to repeat this information? "You hit your head and bled into your skull. The blood clotted and they had to cut a hole and remove it. You're fine now," she recited, then caught the look on Andrea's face. She looked horrified and Miranda realized that she had told this story to various people throughout the day, but this was Andrea's first time hearing it. And she was the one who'd undergone the procedure.

Sighing again, she brushed her fingers through the tips of dark hair at Andrea's shoulder and softened her tone. "You're fine now. You had a very capable surgeon performing your surgery, who'll explain it and everything else far better than me."

Andrea nodded wordlessly, then drew in a shaky breath and winced. Miranda's mind immediately went into overdrive, trying to figure out where else she'd been hurt. They'd told her that all the other wounds were superficial, hadn't they? But Andrea simply said, "I bet I look like shit right now, don't I?"

Miranda could tell she was trying for a joking tone, but it didn't sound very convincing. Miranda wasn't laughing. "You've had better days," she said truthfully.

Andrea was still pale and her eyes still looked red and swollen. Up close, Miranda could see a red, seat belt-shaped bruise on the exposed skin of her neck and wondered how far it extended. Her lips were cracked, her forehead bandaged, and she didn't even want to know what was going on underneath the dressing on her head.

But Andrea was alive and that was the only thing that mattered.

"The girls are very worried about you," she said and Andrea closed her eyes.

"Oh, no, tell me you didn't freak them out. They should be focusing on school."

"Well, I couldn't not tell them," she argued. "They were relieved to hear you were awake, though. They'd like to hear from you when you're feeling better." Andrea nodded instantly, then winced. "Cassidy even read to me about a craniotomy from one of her textbooks."

"Is that what I have?"

"That's the procedure they performed on you," she tried to answer patiently, reminding herself again that Andrea had been unconscious all day and unaware of the happenings around her. Or to her.

"Everyone else is concerned, too," she continued and shot Andrea an accusing glare. "I called your boss, who hadn't even known where you were going."

"We don't have to report to him about every little thing," Andrea responded weakly. "I was doing my job."

Miranda hummed her response, then said, "Nigel called, too. Turns out news travels fast."

"Awww." Andrea smiled and her dry lips cracked some more. "What did he say?"

Miranda pursed her lips again. "That a hospital stay is a good way to lose weight."

Andrea laughed, or tried to, but Miranda hadn't found the tasteless joke amusing at all. Still, Andrea said, "He's the best."

"I suppose," she replied and looked away. "I also called your parents."

"What?" was Andrea's instantaneous reaction.

"Well, your mom."

"You talked to my mom?"

Miranda returned her eyes to her and glared again. "Of course I did." Then she sniffed. "We may have our differences, but this is an extenuating circumstance."

Andrea grimaced. "How did she react?"

"I basically had to talk her off a plane."

"Oh, boy." She looked spooked. "They're not coming here, are they?"

"No," Miranda answered and thought, _Thank god._ "At least not until you're stable. But you'll have to call them. I imagine they're pretty upset at the moment."

Andrea nodded again, more carefully this time, and took Miranda's hand in hers, pulling it to her lips and kissing it. It felt so good that Miranda almost fell apart right then and there. This teeny-tiny gesture she had never really thought about, just Andrea's lips on the palm of her hand: she had come so close to never feeling that again; that and Andrea's lips against hers, the touch of her hands, her warm smiles and tender words. She was so much; a whole world lived inside Andrea--her world.

"You still haven't kissed me," Andrea whispered against her palm and she had just had the same thought.

Leaning down, she moved her hand to Andrea's cheek and took her lips in hers. She wanted to devour her, take everything she could, as much as possible. But she was gentle instead, restraining herself and lightly brushing their lips together.

It felt like their first kiss all over again: electric and new and so incredibly addictive. She couldn't get enough, but she also couldn't be selfish. Andrea had to rest and recover, not engage in make-out sessions. So with that thought in mind and a heavy heart, she pecked her lips one last time and pulled back, rubbing her thumb against a soft cheekbone.

Looking satisfied and exhausted, Andrea licked her lips and murmured, "I'm so tired. I feel like I haven't slept in a year."

"You should get some more sleep," Miranda said. So should she. This had been the longest day of her life.

"Yeah," Andrea sighed, rubbing her good hand across her face. "Are you going home?"

Glancing at her overnight bag, she replied, "No. I'm saying right here," and moved off the bed.

"What?" Andrea looked genuinely perturbed. "No, Miranda, you don't have to. You should go home, sleep in a normal be--"

She was cut off by Miranda's incredulous glare. "Andrea, stop being ridiculous. You just had surgery. I'm not going anywhere."

Andrea looked ready to argue so she gave her another glare. A small part of her dared to hope that she _would_ argue, that she wouldn't yield, that she'd have some of her fire back already, but Andrea surrendered and said, "Fine," and Miranda conceded that she  _had_  just come out of surgery. Andrea reached for her hand again and Miranda took it. "Thank you."

Squeezing her hand, Miranda released it and said, "Go to sleep."


	5. FOUR

"No, Cassidy, I didn't. I was unconscious," Andrea said into the phone, trying her best to sound cheerful. "And I'm not sure I want to know what it looked like."

Miranda almost felt bad for just sitting there and listening, but then she didn't have anything better to do. She thought of checking up on work, but remembered that Andrea was using her phone since hers had been shattered in the accident. She could go out and make some more demands to the nurses, who were already starting to get terrified of her after the long night, but she didn't want to leave Andrea's side.

She might leave in a bit to get them both breakfast because Andrea was definitely not consuming anything produced by this hospital. If she could consume anything at all.

"Yeah, I'm feeling much better," Andrea said, which was a flat-out lie. If anything, she was feeling worse. Looking worse, too.

Their night had been restless, to say the least; neither of them getting much sleep. Andrea had been woken up several times for neurological exams, and when someone else wasn't doing it, she'd woken up on her own to cry in pain or throw up, which the nurses had reassured a horrified Miranda was normal. It hadn't stopped her from instructing, "Get her something for that," and demanding that Andrea be seen to and treated before any other patient in the ward.

For her part, she'd slept even less than Andrea. When Andrea wasn't throwing up or complaining of pain, Miranda had been sitting or lying in her chair-turned-bed, watching her closely and listening to the beeping in the room. Whether it was the result of nighttime, made eerier at the hospital, or the culmination of the day's frenzy, which had left her alone with her thoughts, Miranda's fear and anxiety about Andrea's well-being had grown, gripping her with their claws and forcing her to keep her eyes open at all times lest something should happen.

Nothing had happened, and now with Andrea awake and responsive--albeit looking like death warmed over--she was beginning to feel the exhaustion. She wouldn't be getting back to the office today like she'd thought, which reminded her to make that phone call once Andrea was finished.

"Well, don't worry about me. I'm stronger than I look," Andrea told Cassidy, reminding Miranda of the same fact. Andrea was one of the strongest, toughest people she'd ever met. She would get through this. She had to.

"Alright, you take care of yourself." A pause. "I will." Then, to Miranda's surprise, "Love you, too."

And then Andrea was hanging up the phone and handing it to Miranda. Her smile had vanished as if it'd never been and she was wincing again. The round of phone calls had obviously taken its toll and Miranda mostly blamed the Sachses, who hadn't been able to say goodbye. Getting up, she pressed the call button for the nurse and took the phone from Andrea's hand.

"Yes?" A new nurse, probably starting her morning shift, came in, looking nice and cheery. Clearly no one had warned her about Miranda yet, but no matter, they had the whole shift together. Starting now.

"Give her something for the pain," she demanded.

"How bad is your pain?" She turned to Andrea.

"Like seven," she forced out, writhing on the bed. Miranda put a hand on her shoulder to still her. She didn't know if she was supposed to move her head. When would that doctor come and talk to them anyway?

"Alright, I'll be right back," the nurse said and left the room.

Andrea took a deep breath and released it shakily, ending it on a whimper. Miranda returned to her chair and pressed her lips into a hard line. There was nothing she could do.

"You should go home," said Andrea, her voice rough.

Miranda didn't even entertain the idea. "Nonesense."

"You've been here all night. And what about work?"

"Work is handled." She hoped.

"Miranda, go home. Get some rest. Take a shower."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to imply something?" Though a shower did sound like a very good idea at the moment. She didn't even want to think about all the germs covering her body and clothes.

"Yes, that you look exhausted and I don't need a babysitter."

"You don't say." She pursed her lips and looked away.

"Miranda," Andrea said, making her turn back to her. "Please go. You could bring me some stuff from home."

Miranda knew that her suggestion was purely a tactic to get her to assent, but it worked. This was something she _could_ do to help Andrea and she had no doubt that she would feel a lot better wearing her own pajamas instead of that cheap hospital set and surrounded by her things. Maybe Miranda would also bring new sheets to make her more comfortable. Andrea loved her soft throw blanket. Perhaps even a book for when she felt better. Yes, this was actually a good idea.

"What if the doctor comes while I'm gone?" she asked, though she was already getting up.

"I'm a big girl."

She raised her eyebrow again. "I want to hear what he has to say."

"So I'll tell you."

She sighed. "Fine. Do you want any breakfast?"

"Mmm." Andrea made a face and shook her head slightly. "I don't think I can keep anything down."

Miranda nodded, but decided she would bring something anyway since Andrea hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Knowing her, she hadn't had lunch before the accident, and Miranda hadn't injested anything but coffee and water since her own lunch the day before. Maybe Andrea could handle some crackers or vegetables.

"Alright. I won't be long." She bent down and kissed Andrea's lips. Andrea kissed back.

"Be as long as you want."

* * *

She did take a shower, but a very short one, anxious to get back to Andrea. Stepping out of the stall, she still felt dirty, and upon taking a look in the mirror, she was horrified at the sight. Her eyes were hollow and the bags underneath were bigger and darker than usual. Even her hair was flat, bowing in grief.

Except, she had to remind herself, there was nothing to grieve. Andrea would be okay in her absence, and so long as she didn't get a call from the hospital, she would continue to be okay.

Just in case, though, she kept her phone charging.

Andrea would need a new one, which she'd forgotten to mention to Leah during the ride from the hospital, between all the work-related instructions.

She would work from the hospital, now that Andrea was insisting she didn't need constant supervision, and maybe even venture into the office once she believed her. For now, _Runway_ business was being taken care of and her assistants would be making plenty of hospital visits.

Dressed and made up, she stepped out of the bathroom and looked around the bedroom, trying to determine what Andrea would need. Pulling another overnight bag from the closet, she filled it with silken pajamas, underwear, and Andrea's favorite throw blanket, then returned to the bathroom for her hairbrush, toothbrush, and moisturizers, remembering the state of Andrea's lips.

When she was done, she sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around again. This was her and Andrea's room. Their bed. Their belongings. Their life was here; a shared life of memories and experiences.

Only the day before, Andrea had woken her up for a morning quickie and she hadn't once considered that she might never feel her skin against hers again. So much had happened since then, and now she didn't know when the next time she would get to experience that closeness again would be.

Pulling the pillow from Andrea's side, without thinking, she pressed it to her face and inhaled deeply. Then sighed. It smelled like her; that unique, intoxicating scent she only associated with Andrea. She smelled like home. Now she smelled like a hospital.

* * *

When she entered Andrea's room, Andrea was asleep, for which she was grateful. She had looked awful that morning and could use all the rest she could get. Her brain, too, Miranda was sure.

Quietly placing her light food and the overnight bag next to her own, she opened it and took out the blanket, then moved to the bed, where she draped it over the still body. Andrea's eyes opened.

She startled. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said, feeling guilty.

"S'okay," Andrea mumbled and looked down. "That's my favorite blanket."

"I know." Miranda nodded and sat in her chair. Andrea carefully turned her head toward her.

"The doctor was here."

Miranda straightened up. "Why didn't you call me?" she asked, aware of how accusing her tone sounded, but she'd told Andrea she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I don't have a phone," Andrea answered matter-of-factly.

Getting up, Miranda said, "I'm going to have the nurses call him back in," but was stopped by Andrea's weak voice.

"Miranda." She turned back around. "It's fine. He told me about the surgery and possible complications. He said they might move me out of the ICU today or tomorrow."

She sounded hopeful, but Miranda was stuck on her previous sentence. "What kind of complications?"

"Anything from infection to brain damage or swelling to a stroke," Andrea answered carelessly and Miranda's heart picked up speed.

"Andrea," she said sharply, "be more specific."

"Don't worry," Andrea said, which made her worry even more. "He was pretty calm. He said I was reacting well to the surgery, otherwise he wouldn't consider moving me to a normal room. This is just stuff he has to say, you know, for legal reasons."

Andrea might have been pacified by that--or doing a good job pretending--but Miranda was not at all. She wanted that man back there, before her face, explaining everything in detail.

"Miranda." Andrea reached for her hand, which meant the distress was pretty clear on her face. "It's okay. He said I'm doing fine."

"I'm sure he did," Miranda groused, "to avoid being sued."

"Pretty sure he wouldn't lie about a patient's condition to avoid being sued."

Miranda rolled her eyes, but turned, nevertheless, to fetch the food she'd brought. It was just some toast and fruit, but she hoped Andrea could stomach it. Sitting back down, she opened the container.

"I'm not hungry," Andrea sighed, eyeing the contents with a frown. She was probably still nauseous.

Still, Miranda insisted, "You have to eat, Andrea. The nurses want you to as well."

"I know, I know, just..." she rubbed her hand across her face, then used it to push the container away. "Not yet, just-- please, I can't right now."

Sighing, Miranda decided not to push--for now--and placed the container on the bedside table. "How about some water then?" she asked and, to her relief, Andrea nodded.

The cup on the table still had some water in it, but she grabbed it and emptied it into the sink before refilling it. Then she was back by Andrea's side, holding the straw to her lips for her to take small sips. When she was done, she put the cup aside and sat back down.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Andrea asked and turned her head to her again. "That vacation we took in Tuscany."

She flashed Miranda a small grin that almost made her look like herself and it only took Miranda seconds to remember before she rolled her eyes and snorted.

"When I got that stomach bug," Andrea clarified needlessly. Miranda remembered it very well.

"It wasn't a stomach bug," she corrected. "It was because you insisted on eating all those shrimps for dinner."

"Well," Andrea said lightly as if facts were moot. Miranda suspected she'd learned that from her. "Anyway, I spent the whole night on the bathroom floor, remember? You kept having to get me water and wet washcloths."

"Hmm," Miranda acknowledged with a slight nod. She remembered; certainly not one of their favorable nights--or favorable vacations. She was surprised Andrea remembered it so fondly, but then again, food poisoning was nowhere near as grave as what they were currently facing. She would take Andrea puking her guts out over this any day if she knew that the next day she'd wake up good as new, intent on eating five strips of bacon for breakfast.

"Perhaps when you're better, we can take another vacation," she suggested, hoping to subconsciously prompt her to _get better_.

"Yeah?" Andrea smiled, more fully this time. Maybe it was working already. "Where should we go?"

"Where do you want?"

"Hmm." Now she looked thoughtful. "I loved London. And I've always wanted to see Prague."

"Doesn't have to be in Europe."

"Or we could go to Vegas." Miranda rolled her eyes. "Gamble until we lose our pants."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Miranda said. It felt good, this easy banter between them. Joking, flirting, talking about losing their pants. She would lose every clothing garment she owned if it made Andrea happy. And healthy.

"You know I would." Andrea tried to wiggle her eyebrows, but then remembered her bandaged cut and winced. Still, she continued, "I'd be your lucky charm. You know, like those girls you always see in the movies, wearing minidresses and standing next to their sugar daddies."

"Is that what I am--your sugar mommy?" Miranda chuckled.

"I don't know, would you like me to call you that?" She chuckled again. And rolled her eyes again. Andrea persisted, "Does that turn you on? Being a suuugaarrrrllllghh..."

"Andrea?" Miranda frowned, but then Andrea's mouth was slack-jawed and lopsided, her face contorted frighteningly. Before Miranda had a chance to react further, her neck extended, hands flexed open, and her entire body began to convulse and jerk.

"Andrea!" Miranda called, shooting from her chair and pressing the nurses' button violently and incessantly, which wasn't really necessary since the machines around Andrea started beeping erratically. She was seizing uncontrollably, shaking the whole bed with her, looking like a person straight out of a horror film, being possessed by a demon.

Nurses flew into the room--Miranda didn't count how many--and rushed to either of Andrea's sides. One of them pushed Miranda away and she stumbled backward and watched wide-eyed as they turned Andrea onto her side, as the seizing continued and drool spilled out of her parted lips.

They were calling and saying things Miranda only distantly heard, somewhere in a blurry part in the back of her mind, and then Andrea's body gradually relaxed and stilled, lying motionless on her side, eyes closed. Her bed was promptly wheeled out, barely giving Miranda a chance to register the turn of events before she was standing in an empty room, staring at the empty spot Andrea's bed had just vacated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sound you just heard was me running to hide.


	6. FIVE

What had just happened? What the _fuck_ was happening? And why was no one telling her anything?!

" _Where_ did they take Andrea?" she demanded, barely restraining herself from banging her fist against the nurses station desk. Her blood felt cold and boiling at the same time, her heart pounding at a thousand miles a second.

That image of Andrea--eyes wide open, facial muscles locked, and body jerking asymmetrically, rattling the entire bed with it--would remain with her in her worst nightmares for the rest of her days.

Just when she'd begun to calm down, when things had started looking up and Andrea had started smiling and talking and joking-- She'd survived her surgery; she'd been about to be moved out of the ICU, for god's sake! How much more downhill could things go?

They had assured her that the surgery had gone well. Assured her that Andrea was excelling her neurological exams. Andrea hadn't worried at all about complications like some _idiot_ , and Miranda had listened to her like an even bigger idiot.

This was Andrea's life on the line--did no one get that?

"I told you, ma'am," the nurse behind the desk replied evenly, "I don't know. I just got here. But I'm trying to look into that for you."

Miranda had seen her the day before; she wasn't technically assigned to Andrea, which was probably the reason she was the only nurse unaffected by Miranda's scaring mechanisms. Miranda didn't know whether she should be impressed or have her fired--have the whole damn hospital go out of business--but for now Andrea was her one and only priority.

"You do that." She snarled. "And the second I have Andrea back with me, I'm taking her out of this murderous institution and moving her somewhere where they could actually take care of her instead of making her worse."

The nurse gave her a bored, unfazed look--Miranda decided upon the firing option--and picked up the phone.

"Ms. Priestly?" she heard a voice to her right and turned to see a short woman in blue scrubs--lighter than Dr. Reed's--who definitely looked too young to take care of Andrea.

"Oh, good," the nurse muttered and put the phone down, and Miranda's gaze alternated between the two until settling on the one who started speaking.

"I'm Dr. Meyers. I'm on Andrea's case," Too-Young-to-Be-a-Doctor said. What was she, 20? Andrea was probably older than her.

"Where is she?" Miranda demanded again, lowering her voice to its deadliest setting.

"She's currently in surgery--" the doctor began.

"Surgery?!" Miranda came closer and the doctor had the presence of mind to take a timid step back.

Gulping, she continued, "She experienced a seizure so we took her to get another MRI. It turns out that the previous one missed another blood clot--it was too small to spot, but now it's grown and started compressing the brain, which is why she--"

"You. Missed. A blood clot," Miranda repeated her words, feeling her own blood pump furiously in her veins.

The doctor drew in a breath and said, "Like I said, it was too small to--"

"I don't _care_ how small it was." Miranda's voice was now a near-whisper as she moved even closer to the frightened woman. "It was your _job_ to find it and take. It. _Out_."

The doctor looked at a loss for words, probably afraid of saying the wrong thing and putting the hospital at liability risk. Well, too late for that. Miranda was going to unleash _hell_ on this place.

"I really should be getting back to surgery--" she squeaked and Miranda's eyes widened in fury.

"You're not going anywhere near Andrea's brain."

Holding her hands up before her in defense, she clarified, "I'm only there to observe."

"I don't care if you're there to serve coffee," Miranda spat, "you will now go and get Mr. Fields here."

It was the doctor's eyes' turn to widen. "Um--"

"Right now!"

And so she nodded hurriedly and scurried away, leaving Miranda to glare at the nurse behind the desk. Who glared right back.

Squaring her shoulders and holding her head up high, she stalked back into the room, where beeping was no longer heard and a bed-shaped hole occupied the center. Andrea's throw blanket lay in a heap on the floor.

Miranda grabbed it and draped it over the back of her chair, then picked up her phone and sent out a mass text: _Andrea back in surgery. New blood clot found._

The first call came from Kate mere seconds later and Miranda groaned internally before answering, "Kate--"

"Miranda?!" Her voice was already frantic. "What is going on?!"

"What does she mean 'Andy's back in surgery?'" Miranda heard another, slightly muffled voice and realized Richard Sachs would also be a part of this conversation. "Ask her."

And Kate did: "What do you mean--"

"I heard that," Miranda interrupted dryly. She took a deep breath, preparing for the outlash, and explained as patiently as she could, "She had a seizure--"

"A _seizure_?" they exclaimed simultaneously.

She bunched her available hand into a fist and spoke through gritted teeth, "Yes, a seizure. One moment we were talking and she was alright, and the next she... seized on the bed," she finished lamely, deciding to spare them the terrifying details. There was no point.

"What does that mean?" Richard asked, sounding panicked. "Does it mean brain damage or--"

"I don't know. I know about as much as you do. No one's talking to me right now."

"We trusted you." That was Kate, her voice trembling with emotion. Miranda really hoped she wouldn't start crying again because she couldn't handle that. "You told us to stay here and we trusted you to take care of Andy, to keep her safe--"

"I didn't put that blood clot in her head!" she snapped, feeling her face growing hot. "Don't blame me; blame these incompetent doctors." Couldn't they see that they all had a mutual enemy?

"Miranda," Richard said, sounding more level-headed. His voice was also coming through clearer and she imagined he'd taken the phone from Kate. "What are they telling you?"

Well, if he could feign calmness, so could she. "Not much at the moment. Just what I told you."

At the sound of footsteps, she turned around to see Mr. Fields approaching the room. Lips pursing, she hung up the phone just as Richard began to speak again--knowing she would have hell to pay for that later--and skewered Fields with a glare.

"Miranda--" he began and just that one word, just his voice made her want to stab a scalpel in his head. He sounded both defensive and placating at the same time, like he had a right.

She rounded on him. "I am going to _sue_ you," she threatened, pointing her phone at him. "You and this entire hospital."

Putting his hands in front of him--like Dr. Infant had done--and nodding in fake understanding, he maintained his calm demeanor and said, "I know this is scary, but--"

"You _know_?" she shot, her voice coming out soft and dangerous. "What do you _know_? You don't know anything. You people assured me that her surgery had gone well, that she was doing fine, and now she's back in that operating room because of _your_ negligence. Are you trying to kill her?"

"I talked to Dr. Reed," he explained. "The clot was too small for the machine to pick up on. They couldn't have known--"

Just then, Miranda's phone rang--Caroline. She pursed her lips again, hit the "ignore" button, and looked back up.

"You listen to me and listen to me carefully," she lowered her voice even more, invading his personal space. His breath smelled of cigarettes and she hoped they killed him.

Slowly and clearly, she continued, "If Andrea so much as blinks wrong when she's out of surgery, not only will you not get your precious funding from me or any of my peers, but I will sue this hospital, I will sue every single doctor and nurse and janitor that works here, and I will sue you personally and make sure that when I'm done with you, you won't have any money left for a can of coke.

"And that's the best case scenario, because you don't want to see me react to a worst case scenario, _Gary_. Worst case scenario would mean Andrea not surviving this surgery, and I promise you, I _swear_ , if that happens, you will pay."

Her last words came out in a whisper, and when she was done, she stepped back and surveyed Mr. Fields's face, which looked appropriately spooked. And a little white.

* * *

Miranda paced. She checked her phone for new messages. She paced some more.

She'd talked some more with the Sachses after Mr. Fields had left with his tail tucked between his legs, and once again had had to talk them out of buying plane tickets.

Andrea loved her parents, and if Miranda had thought their being at her side would aid in her recovery, she absolutely would have told them to come and even paid for their flight and hotel room. She would have even sent a driver to the airport.

But the fact of the matter was: at the moment, Andrea's parents were stress factors. Pure, wholesome Andrea would be so preoccupied with calming _their_  nerves that her own recovery would delay instead of improve.

And Andrea obviously didn't want her parents here for the same reason, too exhausted and weak to be anything but truthful.

Not that her parents didn't love and care for her, but at the end of the day, even they must have realized that they were too shaken and that their presence at the hospital could do more harm than good, because it hadn't taken that much to convince them to stay in Cincinnati.

With frequent updates, Miranda remembered with a grimace.

She'd also called her daughters, who, too, had been ready to leave their respective states for _NewYork-Presbyterian_. Caroline had panicked and Cassidy, thankfully, had spared Miranda any medical details because she really didn't want to know.

What if this new clot, this new surgery did cause brain damage like Richard had suggested? That blood clot had been there since the accident, longer than twenty-four hours. And hadn't Fields said the day before that catching it and operating early would lead to positive results? Just how early had he meant?

It felt like hours upon hours, years upon years before a knock came on the open door, snapping her out of her hazy musings. Shooting out of her chair, she came face to face with Dr. Reed, thankfully no longer smiling that infuriating smile. She was too drained to even threaten anymore.

"Andrea's out of surgery," he said solemnly. "They'll be bringing her back here shortly."

Miranda didn't like his tone. "What happened to her?"

Moving further into the room, he motioned to her chair, but Miranda didn't sit down. Her heart was racing so fast that her chest hurt, and she figured that if she was about to have a heart attack, this was the right place. Or, on second thought, perhaps not.

"As my intern infromed you, we found a new blood clot close to the location of the first one. It was so small the first time we took the scans that we didn't see it, and so we weren't looking when we performed the first surgery." His speech was slow and relaxed, but Miranda felt anything but.

"I took it out now and thoroughly searched the area to make sure I didn't miss anything else, but just in case, I would like to run another scan later.

"For now, we can't know for sure how Andrea will wake up... if she wakes up," he added after an intake of breath and Miranda lost hers. "I'm reassured by the fact that before the seizure, her recovery seemed to be going well. I'm assuming she filled you in about our conversation?"

Miranda arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Andrea had. She'd also been very vague about the "complications," but then again, even Dr. Reed hadn't anticipated the new development, which _he'd_ missed.

"Right now, we'll play it by ear," he continued when no further response was forthcoming. "Andrea will return here and continue to be monitored, and we'll have to wait for her to wake up to see if any brain deficits have been caused."

"Such as?" Miranda spoke up for the first time in minutes.

Dr. Reed sighed. "It can vary from more seizures to paralysis or... coma. But let's not get ahead of ourselves here," he added.

Miranda's jaw hardened. Her fists clenched. She felt frozen, numb. These people had hurt Andrea. She could lose her, really lose her--the possibility was now even stronger than it had been before. Her own brain short-circuited because a world without Andrea Sachs in it was impossible to imagine.

They were Miranda and Andrea. Not Miranda.

"Leave," she whispered.

Fortunately, he listened and did, and a few minutes later, Andrea's bed was wheeled back in through the door.

The horrifying tube was back in her mouth. The dressing on the left side of her head was bigger. She was so white to the point where she was almost grey, ghostly.

And so the waiting game began once again: Miranda sitting on an uncomfortable chair, watching an unconscious body, willing it with her mind to wake up and talk to her.

Every once in a while, she would get up to put her hand gently on Andrea's chest and feel the shallow rise and fall, no longer trusting the machines' beeping.

To those concerned, she had said that Andrea was out of surgery and they were waiting for her to wake up. No point in worrying them for nothing before she really knew anything and prompting another wave of insistence to come.

The ICU wasn't intended to hold that many visitors anyway, even if Miranda had proven that she only abided by her own rules.

As she waited for Andrea to wake up, hardly daring to breathe, her mind took her back to another hospital visit, years before.

The twins had been only toddlers, no older than 2-years-old, and Miranda had still been married to their father, who, one night, had found Cassidy seizing in her bed, blue and grey from head to toe.

It had been the scariest, most frantic night of Miranda's life--until now.

In the end, Cassidy had been found to have had a high fever due to a bladder infection, and with the right treatment and medicine, she'd recovered fully with no lasting damage.

But that night, Miranda had been a wreck. That night, John had been the one to keep his cool and stay in charge while she'd held and cooed at her wailing baby. And cried just as much.

Now she had to keep her cool and stay in charge because there was no one else to fill that position--certainly not those quacks. And Andrea needed her to be strong. Andrea needed her to handle everything perfectly so she wouldn't have to, so she could focus on getting better and nothing else.

The hours passed agonizingly slowly, and yet Miranda had no desire to do anything but watch Andrea closely. She didn't even care about work at the moment and figured that if the next month's issue came out catastrophical, she could defend herself in the editor's note.

The public would certainly like to hear about her personal life and sapphic relationship. Irv, maybe not so much, but if he so much as gave her the wrong look, she would chase him out of the industry with the flick of a wrist.

When night fell, the gagging finally started, and Miranda was so relieved that she couldn't even find it in herself to be terrified this time. Instead, she held Andrea down as the nurse pulled the tube out of her throat and proceeded to comfort and console while Dr. Reed was paged.

Stage One was a success: Andrea was awake.

Miranda smiled down at her and caressed her shoulder with the gentlest touch, now more than ever conscious of accidentally hurting her.

Andrea coughed and panted while she whispered encouraging words, and then Dr. Reed came in and it was time for Stage Two.

"Andy," he exclaimed, coming to a stop by her other side, and Miranda raised an eyebrow because just how familiar had they had a chance to get with each other in their brief, mutually conscious meeting?

"You gave us quite a scare earlier," he said with his non-charming smile back in place and Miranda wanted to punch him. _She'd_ given them a scare?! Like it was her fault?

"Can you tell me your full name and where you are?" Dr. Reed asked and Miranda held her breath until her lungs burned.

The whole world seemed to slow to a crawl, seconds turning into hours, before Andrea finally opened her mouth and groggily muttered, "Andrea Sachs. _Presbyterian Hospital_."

"Good, good." Dr. Reed nodded to himself and Miranda exhaled her breath.

"What year is it?" She watched as he proceeded to question Andrea while checking her pupils, reflexes, and whatever else. Miranda, in the meantime, sank into her chair because he looked pleased. And relieved.

* * *

Emerging from the adjoining bathroom, Miranda found Andrea stretching to reach her phone on the bedside table. Her body was contorted sideways, her head had left the pillow, and Miranda freaked out.

"What are you doing?" she reproached, hurrying to Andrea's side and pulling her back down on the bed, carefully placing her head on the pillow.

"I wanted to call my parents," Andrea replied, sounding more awake than she had when Miranda left her to perform her morning routine--as well as she could at the hospital. "I haven't talked to them since yesterday, they must be worried sick."

"Well, I'm sure they'll be even more worried if you hurt yourself," Miranda countered, rounding the bed back to her own side and handing Andrea the phone. "You just had surgery; you need to rest."

Thankfully, Andrea didn't argue, just smiled gratefully and took the phone. Miranda was glad she'd kept the Sachses from coming; Andrea was already worried about their well-being.

She did look more alive this morning, though, albeit sick and fragile. Miranda supposed it had something to do with her getting a better night's sleep (despite the constant check-ups and occasional nausea and pain), even though Miranda had, once again, kept her eyes open the entire time.

She figured that once the adrenaline from this whole mess subsided, her age would catch up with her and exhaustion would take over. She hoped she didn't get sick while Andrea needed her because Andrea would then absolutely neglect herself to take care of her.

So far, no real damage seemed to have been caused due to the new clot and surgery, but if Miranda had learned anything, it was to be precautious. She no longer trusted anyone but herself.

Fields hadn't shown his face in Andrea's room since she'd threatened to ruin his life, but she was sure he'd demanded and received updates. Dr. Reed's appearances, on the other hand, had grown more frequent (possibly also at Fields's instruction) and nothing had been left unsaid or unclear. Too bad it had taken Andrea nearly dying a second time.

Andrea had been upset, to say the least, upon discovering the new developments in her case the night before, but she'd also been too drowsy to really dwell on it. She had asked some questions, cried a little--which had made Miranda extremely uncomfortable and caused her heart to squeeze like a fist; and then fallen back into unconsciousness.

Now she was, of course, reassuring her parents that she was fine, even though Miranda could see that she was still rattled. When the conversation had finished, she stood up and took the phone from her hand.

"Now, I won't accept 'no' for an answer--you need to eat." And if Andrea said no, she would force-feed her. Or get one of the nurses to do it through a tube.

But fortunately, Andrea only bit her lip and then nodded gingerly, which sent Miranda straight out of the room to demand her breakfast be brought in at once.

Minutes later, Andrea's bed was propped up, a tray of food sat in front of her, and Miranda was cutting her pancakes for her (her VIP breakfast, along with scrambled eggs, a banana, low-fat yogurt, and orange juice) since one of her hands was still restricted.

Andrea couldn't possibly stomach all that food, but it also seemed to be moderating her nausea. For now, Miranda was happy that she was getting anything other than water in her mouth--even if it was hospital food after all--and not complaining.

"I'm done," she said with a sigh a short while later, her plate still mostly full. But Miranda conceded that baby steps would be needed and she was making a progress, so she didn't push.

Instead, she said, "How about we get you out of these hospital clothes? I brought you some things from home." And besides, the doctor and nurses had told her that it would be good for Andrea to get up with assistance every once in a while. It would be good for Miranda, too, to see her looking more like her Andrea and not this shell of a person.

Andrea nodded and, with relief, she went to retrieve her red, silken pajamas and simple, cotton underwear. It would probably be easier to get the clothes on while she was standing anyway, instead of making her wriggle in the bed. So just this once, Miranda shut the door and blinds and went back to Andrea's side.

She carefully helped her into a sitting position while supporting her head, like she'd done with her girls as babies, then wrapped her arms around her waist and lifted her to her feet.

"Lean on me," she instructed gently and Andrea did as told, placing her good hand on Miranda's shoulder and leaning that side of her body into her while Miranda pulled down the hospital pants and her underwear and replaced them with the new garments.

Then she was level with Andrea again and gently removing her sling before unbuttoning the shirt. The gasp that begged to come out when it was open was suppressed, but Andrea must have caught the horror-filled look on her face because she made to look down.

Miranda's hand instantly went to her chin, tilting it back up to the required 30 degrees. "Head up. Doctor's orders." Miranda's order, too, because Andrea didn't need to see the state of her torso.

The seat belt, as Miranda had suspected, had indeed left a reddish mark down the length it had covered, and along the left side of Andrea's abdomen lay a big, purpuling bruise surrounded by shallow cuts.

Carefully removing the shirt, she did her best to ignore the sight, hoping that if she displayed indifference, Andrea would believe her, although she wasn't sure which one of them was emitting the short, quick breaths.

The silk shirt came on just as carefully and Miranda was grateful for the chance to button it and hide the bruises--from Andrea and herself. None of them were severe, she reminded herself.

After returning the sling to its place and helping Andrea back onto the bed, she grabbed the throw blanket from the back of her chair and spread it over the hospital one, delighted with Andrea's grateful--albeit exhausted--smile.

Her next destination was the overnight bag again, where she extracted Andrea's hairbrush. Then her own bag with her make-up kit.

Andrea let her brush her hair--while keeping away from the dressing and being careful not to tug--without complaints, but when the make-up kit opened, she frowned. "Do I really need that?"

She sounded skeptical and self-conscious at the same time and Miranda rolled her eyes. "Being at the hospital is not an excuse to look like you've been hit by a truck."

"Pick-up truck," Andrea corrected with a lopsided grin. Miranda wasn't laughing. She didn't think she would ever be ready to laugh about this.

But nevertheless, soon Andrea's lips were moisturized and pink, her cheeks had regained some color (if only artificially), and her eyebrows had been plucked.

"How do I look?" she asked, to which Miranda responded with a compact mirror. "Damn."

Damn indeed. She was beautiful; a glimpse of the real Andrea and not this sick person who looked a second away from death. She didn't need any of that make-up to take Miranda's breath away, but it sure was a nice way to pretend she was okay.

Clearing her throat, Miranda repacked her kit, grabbed the brush from the bedside table, and dumped the items back in their respective bags. Then she turned on her heel, headed into the bathroom, locked the door, and cried.


	7. SIX

Miranda carefully dabbed at the skin underneath her eyes--grateful for her waterproof mascara and eyeliner--but it was in vain because soon enough a fresh wave of tears flooded them. She figured three days of pent-up tension would do that to you.

Now she couldn't stop, no matter how hard she tried, her back against the door and her hand muffling her sounds while Andrea lay oblivious outside.

Andrea, who should have been at work right now while Miranda terrorized her underlings at  _Runway_. Andrea, who would have returned home tonight and dragged Miranda, with little convincing, to bed because they were "supposed to take advantage of the empty house." Andrea, who insisted on taking fucking cabs everywhere.

Miranda doubled over, barely containing the sobs that wanted to break free, and sat right on the bathroom floor--germs be damned.

Her make-up was most definitely running now, but she couldn't care less, instead dropping her head to her knees and emitting short, shallow gasps. They weren't enough to calm her either.

Andrea had almost died.  _Almost died_. It was incomprehensible. This wasn't supposed to be their life. Nobody had warned her about  _this_  when she'd fallen in love with Andrea. Their careers, their reputations, her girls' feelings; sure. But this? Who could have ever predicted their life taking this kind of dark, horrendous turn?

She was sleep-deprived, her nerves were raw, and Andrea, it seemed, was hanging between life and death, constantly teetering on the edge.

Miranda no longer dared to hope that she was improving, that the worst was behind them. The worst hadn't even begun.

Even if Andrea didn't develop new complications, even if no more blood clots were found and no further surgeries were needed, they had a long, long road of recovery ahead of them. Dr. Reed had only mentioned several things, to be clarified and elaborated on by a nurse prior to Andrea's discharge--and god knew when that would be now--but already Miranda was frightened.

This was easily one of the scariest things she'd ever had to deal with. Catasrophes didn't happen to her--not beyond ruined magazine layouts and the occasional atrocious dress. Never at this capacity.

She wasn't a person that spent day and night at a hospital, watching a loved one breathe and praying to a deity she didn't believe in that they would continue to do so for another day to come.

She wasn't a person that locked herself inside a small bathroom that smelled of antiseptic while her body shook with involuntary sobs. It just wasn't her.

Getting back to normal would not be an easy feat. Andrea's skull had been opened twice, her head messed with; that couldn't and wouldn't not leave lasting side effects, even once the incision area healed.

Her recovery time would be longer than either of them would like and it would take even longer for Andrea to return to the work she loved so much at full capacity. Miranda wondered if her writing ability would suffer--another thing to inquire about--because writing was one of the things Andrea enjoyed most in life.

Now Miranda would go from being a significant other to a live-in nurse, constantly watching, helping, and treating Andrea, doing the simplest tasks for her. She hoped Andrea would not object to an actual nurse because Miranda doubted she could take all that toll on herself--or that she was even qualified.

And after that, what would become of Andrea? What would become of them? A brain injury was sure to change a person, wasn't it? At least a little bit if not a full personality shift? Who would Miranda be going home with?

This wasn't supposed to be their life.

Getting to her feet with a grunt, she grasped the edge of the sink with both hands and stared at herself in the mirror. Sure enough, she'd ruined her make-up and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

 _Fuck it,_  she thought and opened the tap, washing her face clean. She then looked back into the mirror, feeling older than she actually was and looking even worse. Andrea had shaved about ten years off her life in less than three days.

Leaving the bathroom the same way she'd gone in, sans the make-up, she pasted on a blank gaze and returned to Andrea's bedside, where a nurse was running the usual tests. Currently, she was checking Andrea's blood pressure.

Back to the worrying, back to Andrea's sunken eyes, back to the fucking beeping. This was Miranda's new normal.

"You okay?" asked Andrea, who never did fail to read her perfectly.

Miranda merely replied with a clipped "Fine" and sat back down, immediately burying her nose in her phone. She continued to feel Andrea's eyes on her, but refused to look up. She wasn't seeing much of the happenings on her screen either.

Once the nurse had left, though, she asked, "Do you need to use the bathroom?" Because that was another thing Andrea needed help with.

"No, I'm good."

She nodded. "Then I'm going to call my assistant." She got up and headed for the door, only to be stopped by Andrea's voice.

"Miranda?" Inhaling through her nose, she turned around and fixed her gaze on Andrea, forcing herself to not look away. She didn't know what Andrea was seeing on her face--besides unmasked bags and wrinkles--but she seemed to deflate before muttering, "Nothing."

And Miranda didn't push, grateful for the reprieve. She needed to get out, away from all the sickness and fear and beeping.

She found herself in the cafeteria, leaning against a wall and not calling her assistant.

There were a lot more people here. Surely someone would recognize her, which was really bad timing on her part since her make-up had been washed off and her clothes were getting wrinkled.

But she couldn't go back to Andrea, not until she got herself under control again, like John had so many years before. Andrea needed a rock, not a paper that crumpled at the lightest disturbance.

If she came back now, without the presence of nurses or doctors as a distraction, Andrea would know. She would take one look at her and she would know that Miranda had cried, that she'd finally fallen apart, that this was too much. Too much.

Eventually, she did call Jennifer to have her bring the Book by tonight. She'd canceled the night before for obvious reasons, but not tonight; not when she needed a distraction, not when facing Andrea had become too difficult, not when her employees had possibly butchered her precious magazine.

And work could be good for her. Work could turn her back into Miranda Priestly, rather than this sorry excuse for an adult she'd become. Snow Queen who?

Upon her return to the room, Andrea was dozing and she breathed out a sigh of relief. And was extremely quiet about moving around so as not to disturb her. She needed the sleep and Miranda needed her to not ask questions.

* * *

"Now move your toes," Dr. Reed asked and Andrea complied. "Very good. How's your pain?"

"A little better. The nurse gave me painkillers earlier."

"Good," he said. "If you don't pull another stunt like yesterday, we might be able to move you into a regular ward tomorrow."

"I wasn't aware she was the one to pull the stunt," Miranda muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Andrea to hear and shush her.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said, flashing him an apologetic smile on Miranda's behalf.

"You're welcome." He smiled back and left.

"You don't need to be mean. It wasn't his fault," Andrea chastised once they were alone.

"Oh?" Miranda raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Then, pray tell, whose fault was it?"

"Nobody's. These things happen."

"These things," Miranda said, narrowing her eyes incredulously, "don't just  _happen_ , Andrea. Brain surgeries don't just happen and people don't land in the hospital for no reason." Did she really not get that?

She really didn't because she frowned and asked, "What are you getting at, Miranda?"

And Miranda huffed because this really wasn't the time. "Nothing," she murmured, leaning back in her chair.

"No, get it out," Andrea urged. "You've been acting weird all day. Are you mad at me for something?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Why would I be mad at you? You're in the hospital."

"Yeah, exactly," Andrea said unexpectedly. "I'm in the hospital and you're stuck here with me and putting your life on hold."

Miranda wanted to laugh. Was that what she thought? That Miranda was upset with her because she was a burden? That  _her_  life didn't include Andrea's life as well? "Please. You're making me sound like a monster."

"Well, then what is it?" Andrea was almost begging now, her voice rising with her obvious frustration. "Because I know it's  _something_."

Miranda looked away. She knew Andrea was still watching her. She took a deep breath, turned back to her, and said, "Fine. Do you want to know why I'm upset?" And there must have been something in her voice because Andrea suddenly looked uncertain, but nodded nonetheless.

"Why did you have to get into that cab?" Miranda demanded.

Andrea's eyes widened. Of all the things she could have said, Andrea apparently hadn't been expecting that. "What?" she asked weakly.

"How many times," Miranda asked, "how many times have I told you to use one of my drivers? I employ an entire service; you could get a driver at our front door with one phone call. Yet you continue to ride in cabs. And that's when you don't take that awful subway."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Andrea asked, looking genuinely confused as though that didn't have everything to do with everything.

Miranda got up from her chair with another huff. "I'll tell you what it has to do with things: if it wasn't for your stubborness, you wouldn't be here--"

" _What_?"

"--but now, thanks to your refusal to live a 'lavish lifestyle,'"--she made air quotes with her fingers--"you're stuck here with staples in your head. I'll tell you a secret, Andrea: you still have to pay someone to drive you, regardless of which car service you decide to take."

Andrea looked well and truly offended, but it was too late to take her words back now. Besides, Andrea always insisted that they be truthful and honest with one another, so here it was.

"Oh, because if I'd used one of your drivers, the accident wouldn't have happened?" Andrea retorted. Miranda shrugged. "Please."

"Maybe," she insisted. "You don't know what could have happened."

"Why? Because of the butterfly effect?" Andrea actually snorted. "Is Miranda Priestly getting philosophical on me now?" Miranda rolled her eyes again. "You're right, I couldn't have known what was going to happen. No one could. And I told you, I  _can't_  roll up to an interview in a chauffeured Mercedes."

"Why not?" Miranda snapped. "Who cares?"

"My interviewees do! It's bad enough that they know I live with one of the richest people in Manhattan--you remember what everyone was saying about me when we just started dating, calling me a 'gold digger'--how do you think people who make almost below minimum wage would feel about me being dropped off by my own driver?"

Miranda was silent because she was still processing the first part of Andrea's little speech. "It's bad enough that you live with me?" she asked slowly.

Andrea groaned. "I didn't say that--don't twist my words. I said it's bad enough that they know we live toge--"

"Oh, that sounds much better," she replied scornfully. "I wasn't aware that our relationship was still a secret."

"I didn't say that!" Andrea yelled, then winced and rested her head back on the pillow. Miranda's heart started pounding, but she still felt so angry; three days of rage, fear, and frustration coming to a head in one moment.

"Settle down, don't work yourself into a snit," she said, aware of how cold her voice sounded. She heard herself talking to an employee, not her partner.

"Don't put words in my mouth," Andrea grumbled.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she leaned against the foot of the bed and murmured, "I'm sorry."

"You are?" Andrea looked surprised and she really wished she didn't. Miranda said "sorry." Sometimes. When there was a real need for it, and right now she really hadn't meant to upset Andrea so. She wasn't sure what she'd hoped to achieve.

"Yes. It wasn't my intention to fight and right now is not the time for it. You're hurt and I apologize."

"You don't have to." Andrea shook her head. "None of this is your fault."

Miranda breathed in, then out. She hadn't even thought of it like that, but now that Andrea had mentioned it-- "Yes. It is."

Eyes widening, Andrea said, "What?"

She sighed. "I should have been more persistent. I never should have let you develop that cab habit in the first place. But don't worry, starting now, it's all going to change--"

"Woah, woah, wait--"

"--you'll have your own personal driver around the clock--"

"Miranda, stop!" She did and looked at Andrea, who seemed at a sudden loss for words. Shaking her head again, she stammerd, "N-no."

"No?" Miranda repeated, though it was more a statement than a question. A challenge.

"No. No way. You completely missed my point--"

Miranda didn't ler her finish. "I don't understand, Andrea, do you want to die?"

Andrea made a  _pfft_  sound. "Like it's going to happen again?"

"Want to test that theory?"

"Miranda!" she sounded outraged, but really, what had she expected?

"I'm sorry, but you sound like a child."

"And you're impossible to talk to," Andrea shot back. "And let's say it does happen again. Then you'll lose both me and your driver."

Miranda went silent again, her breath catching, because Andrea's words had hit something inside her that burned white and hot. Losing Andrea. That had been her greatest fear the whole time. That was her entire reasoning for keeping her as safe as her ability provided, which Andrea just  _wasn't getting_.

"Nobody's losing anybody," she snapped, a little harsher than she'd intended. Then she told the truth, "I can't protect you if you won't let me."

If she'd thought Andrea would appreciate the gesture, she was sorely mistaken. "I don't  _need_  you to protect me, Miranda, I'm a grown person."

"Really?" Miranda said sourly. "Because you don't sound like one right now. Grown-ups listen to reason."

"Oh, so this is now a critique of me as a person."

 _God_ , she could be so infuriating! "Andrea--"

"Just drop it, Miranda, okay?" Andrea cut her off and rubbed her good hand across her face, rubbing off some of the blush Miranda had applied earlier. "You're right; now's not the time and I'm not in the mood for fighting and yelling."

And something snapped. Something inside Miranda--a previously mere, harmless flame--burst into something bigger, brighter, hotter, breaking out when she hadn't even realized it'd wanted to. Raising her voice in god-knows-however-long, she exclaimed, " _Yelling_?" It sounded foreign to her own ears, but at the same time she couldn't hear anything but the blood pumping furiously in her veins. "That's your problem, yelling?"

And Andrea looked truly shocked and terrified, especially when her volume continued to pick up until it reached full-on shouting. "I'll yell," she said. Her voice actually cracked on the last syllable, unused to reaching these heights, but she powered through, "If that's what keeps you alive, I'll yell all you want!"

"Miranda," Andrea whispered, casting a cautious glance out at the nurses station, but she ignored her.

"I'll scream so the whole hospital hears me. You think I care? You think I care about that more than I care about you? Let them think what they want, if it means I don't have to lose you!"

"Please, stop!" Andrea pleaded. "Stop. I just had surgery--two surgeries--"

"Yes, Andrea, exactly," Miranda shouted, holding up two shaking fingers. It felt good and awful at the same time; mostly awful. Her eyes were beginning to sting again, to her horror. "Two surgeries! You almost died not once, but twice. _Twice_ I came this close to losing you! Do you have any idea how I felt, waiting for you to come out of surgery? Sitting here while you were unconscious, wondering if you would even wake up? _Do you_?"

"Well, it wasn't my fault so stop blaming me!" Andrea shouted right back and promptly grabbed the bowl on her bedside table, emptying her scarce stomach contents into it.

That was enough to bring Miranda back down to reality, though before her fear could send her to Andrea's side, a nurse appeared (the one that wasn't scared of her) and scolded, "Will you keep it down? There are patients in serious conditions here, and she needs to rest." She pointed at Andrea, who was putting the bowl back on the table. She looked wretched.

Miranda felt so guilty she wanted to throw up as well. But instead, she sighed and returned to her chair, taking Andrea's hand tentatively in hers.

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice softer--softer than its usual volume even. Her throat was slightly sore. Andrea wasn't looking at her, but she continued, "I'm just worried. This has been... it's been a stressful few days," she breathed out. Still no response. "Andrea."

Finally, Andrea turned to her, her eyes tired and red, her skin pale. She felt even guiltier, making her feel worse when she was already getting over brain surgery. Two brain surgeries.

"I think you should go," Andrea whispered.

Wait... what? Go? "What?"

"Go home, Miranda."

She had to be kidding. "Don't be ridiculous, Andrea. I'm staying right he--"

"Miranda, _please_." Her voice rose for just a moment, before whispering again, "I need to rest."

Miranda was well-aware. Clearing her throat, she replied, "And I'll be here when you--"

"Miranda, _I don't want you here_."

And Miranda could almost feel her heart shatter into a million pieces because... what? After everything she'd done for her, after all the hours she'd spent in that hospital, terrorizing nurses and doctors and waiting anxiously and giving Andrea water--doing everything in her limited power to help Andrea...

"Andrea," she tried, her tone pleading.

To her horror, Andrea extracted her hand from hers and repeated, "Go home."

Heart beating wildly in her chest, hand feeling empty and cold, Miranda licked her suddenly dry lips and slowly rose to her feet, looking down at Andrea, who refused to look back.

She grabbed her phone, fetched her bags, walked to the door, and turned around. "Andrea--"

" _Leave_."

And so she left.

* * *

Staring at her bedroom ceiling, Miranda wished she could be back at the hospital. Which was ironic because the whole time she'd been there, she'd fantasized about going back home. With Andrea.

"You could stay here with me," Andrea suggested from her side and rolled on top of her.

Placing her hands on supple hips, Miranda looked up at her face--plump and full of color and mischief. Andrea licked her lower lip before leaning down and kissing her, slowly and deeply. Miranda indulged her, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her close.

Opening her eyes, she turned her head to Andrea's side, finding it empty.

Their bed didn't feel the same without her in it. It was too big and cold and now even her remaining scent wasn't enough to fill her spot. Parhaps she should let Patricia occupy that space in Andrea's absence. She'd always tried to get on the bed as a puppy.

The whole house felt empty and chilly with no Andrea and no kids; just her and the dog.

Andrea was now alone in the hospital, not only suffering, but hating Miranda. If something happened, if another seizure occured or any other... complication, Miranda wouldn't be there.

It would be the day of the accident all over again: Miranda getting the call after the fact and rushing to the hospital, scared and clueless.

Then again, being with Andrea at the time of the seizure hadn't helped much either and hadn't made her feel any more useful, but at least she had been there. At least Andrea had known.

And this whole cab thing... who even _cared_? Miranda didn't. She knew now: it had never been about the damn cab. She didn't give a flying fuck about the cab--Andrea could use any mode of transportation she wanted. She was right: it could have happened in any vehicle and the only person to blame for putting her in that hospital bed was the drunk driver.

But Miranda had needed an outlet. Lying now in bed, away from Andrea and with everything in perspective, she realized that the last three days had just been way, way, way too much. A living hell that even she couldn't handle.

She had been storing up fear and frustration and grief, so much grief, and when the time had finally come to let it all out, Andrea had been there. Poor, sweet Andrea, absorbing her disress when she was the least deserving person.

Miranda couldn't fault her for not wanting to be anywhere near her. She wouldn't either. Miranda never, ever yelled and she'd chosen to do it one day after Andrea's second brain surgery in as many days, while she was getting over the procedures as well as the trauma--

Oh... the trauma. Miranda hadn't even considered that. She'd been so preoccupied with Andrea's medical issues and how a lack of Andrea in her life would affect her that she hadn't once stopped to think about the fact that a pick-up truck had literally plowed into Andrea.

That must have been one of if not the scariest moment in her life and Miranda hadn't even realized how it might affect her. She might never feel safe inside a car or on the road again. She might never trust another person to drive her. And she'd always have the physical reminder of the time she'd almost died.

Not the time Miranda had almost lost her. The time _she'd_. Almost. Died.

Miranda supposed once the dam had been broken, there was no closing it back up because without her permission, she felt tears spring to her eyes and slide down her temples.

This wasn't about her like everything else was. This was Andrea's life; her pain, her trauma. And Miranda needed to grow the fuck up and be there for her the way Andrea needed her to.

She sat up in bed just as her phone rang and immediately leapt for it, dread making her blood run cold until she saw the name Jennifer on the screen. For heaven's sake, what did _she_ want right now?

"What?" she snapped upon picking up.

"Um, hi, Miranda?"

"Spit it out," she ordered.

"I, uh... well, I'm outside. Do you want me to come up or--"

"What the hell are you doing outside?" She frowned.

There was a brief silence before Jennifer, sounding hesitant, replied, "You wanted me to bring you the Book, didn't you?"

Oh, god. She was at the hospital, where Miranda had told her to drop off the Book. Where she'd thought she would spend the night. And wouldn't cancel again. And yet she found herself running a hand through her hair and muttering, "Return the Book to _Runway_ and go home."

"Um, are you su--" She hung up.

But she would be returning to the hospital, whether Andrea liked it or not, and would be doing exaxtly zero work-related things. Instead, she would be there for Andrea and every need she had and she would not judge, would not complain, would not yell. Never, ever again.

* * *

By the time her driver pulled up at the hospital's main doors, it was already nearing midnight, but she knew as well as the nurses that visiting hours didn't apply to her and no one was brave enough to tell her otherwise.

Riding the elevator, walking through the corridors, passing rooms, it was all beginning to feel unpleasantly, devastatingly familiar. This was where she'd be spending her upcoming days, as many as it took. She'd either be working from a hospital room or she'd finally appoint a replacement until her mind was fully focused on her magazine again.

Right now, it didn't matter. Right now, only one thing mattered and that was Andrea, lying in her bed when Miranda entered the room, wearing her decadent pajamas, covered by her favorite blanket, and silently weeping.

She looked up when she sensed Miranda's presence, looking more miserable than Miranda had ever seen her. Her heart broke all over again. She'd done that.

She took one look at Andrea before wordlessly putting her bag on its chair and striding toward the bed, where she pulled back the covers and carefully climbed in beside her.

Then they were finally in bed together, Miranda sitting beside a warm body shaking with quiet sobs and pulling it closer. And Andrea, thankfully, came willingly, burying her face in Miranda's chest and crying into her side.

Miranda let her. She didn't try to quiet her down, didn't say a word; just held her and ran her hand up and down the uninjured part of her arm.

Until Nurse Unafraid-of-Miranda poked her head through the door, taking in the scene before her. "I thought I heard--"

"Go," Miranda ordered quietly and, miraculously, she did, even closing the door halfway.

Inhaling deeply, Miranda settled in more comfortably and hugged Andrea, whose crying was finally beginning to subside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!!! Coming on Sunday.
> 
> Y'all know what to do 👇


	8. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who got this far, thank you for sticking around. It really means a lot.
> 
> This story was one of the hardest I've ever had to write since I had to delve into a topic I basically knew nothing about. I had to do extensive research on brain injuries, craniotomy, seizures, even sprained elbows; and every few paragraphs, I wanted to cry and just give up on the story because I felt that I was not equipped enough to tell it.
> 
> But I'm so glad I stuck with it and your comments have made it worth every moment of desperation and defeat.
> 
> So here it is: the epilogue. I'm currently thinking of adding an accompanying piece or two (not sequels) later on, but I'm also working on a couple of other fics and feeling like I can't string two words together, so only time will tell.
> 
> This was a long preface, so I'll leave you with the chapter now.

**3 months later**

Miranda descended the stairs into the kitchen just in time to see a plate slip from Andrea's hands into the sink.

Even now, her breath still caught and her heart rate picked up pace, but she had to remind herself that Andrea had always been clumsy, long before the injury. And besides, her hands were slippery with soap, even though she absolutely did not need to do the dishes and even though they had a perfectly good dishwasher.

"Oops." Andrea looked up at her when she came to rest on the last step, biting her lip apologetically.

Exhaling, Miranda said, "Leave it. The housekeeper will clean it up."

"Well, I can--"

"Andrea," she said impatiently, rounding the kitchen island to where Patricia was lying on the floor, waiting. Patiently.

"Fine," Andrea surrendered, wiping her hands on a towel. "Just give me a second."

Growing more impatient, Miranda insisted, "You look fine," but Andrea climbed the stairs nonetheless, disappearing from view. Miranda knew where she was going and, sure enough, when she returned, she was wearing her new favorite beanie, designed and gifted to her personally by Donatella Versace.

"You don't need that," Miranda reminded her, keeping her voice neutral, but Andrea ignored her as usual.

The hair on her incision site had finally begun to grow, soft tufts covering the scars, but in spite of Miranda's many encouragements, she was still self-conscious, preferring to hide it in public. Especially after one deplorable reporter had commented on it on _Page Six_ and had since been fired and blacklisted in New York City.

Adjusting the beanie on her head, Andrea announced, "Ready to go," and snapped her fingers at Patricia, who, despite her age, all but leapt toward the front door. Their weekend strolls at the park weren't so much for her as they were for Andrea, but she enjoyed them just the same.

Walking was good for Andrea, encouraged since her release from the ICU months before, and now Dr. Reed had finally given the green light for gentle sporting activities. Which Andrea wasn't entirely thrilled about, but she'd agreed to work with Miranda's personal trainer.

Sexual activities, to Andrea's delight, had been permitted weeks before, but Miranda had been precautious. It hadn't been until their first night together post-accident, when Andrea had survived their lovemaking and begged for more, that Miranda had relaxed and let herself enjoy it as well.

And enjoy it she had. Andrea had come alive under her touch; the look on her face resembling nothing Miranda had seen in the torturous weeks following the accident. It had given her the first indication that they'd be okay after all.

Locking the door behind her, she joined the pair on the sidewalk, linking her arm with Andrea's.

"I'm thinking a longer walk today," Andrea said unnecessarily. She had already walked the entirety of Central Park twice--mostly to prove to herself she could--and now their walks were more of a habit than a necessity. But Miranda was pleased nonetheless and they had all day.

"Lead the way," she said with a smile. Leaning into her side, Andrea did. Or, more accurately, let Patricia lead.

Three months ago, Miranda had thought their life was over. From Andrea's bedside, she had seen no way it could get better. Now Andrea was smiling again, writing again, and letting her new chauffeur drive her everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. Sometimes she preferred walking, which was fine with Miranda.

But one thing they had both learned--as clichéd as Miranda had once thought it sounded--was that life was terribly short and every second counted.

She thought of that right now as she squeezed Andrea's arm a little tighter and kissed her temple--paparazzi be damned. Then, not wanting to waste a second more, she murmured, "I love you."

And Andrea squeezed her arm right back and replied, "I love you, too."

 

_**End.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
